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Title: Winter
Author: Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow [
More Titles by Bigelow]
His thundering car
Is heard from afar,
And his trumpet notes sound
All the country around;
Stop your ears as you will,
That loud blast and shrill
Is heard by you still.
Borne along by the gale,
In his frost coat of mail,
Midst snow, sleet, and hail,
He comes without fail,
And drives all before him,
Though men beg and implore him
Just to let them take breath,
Or he'll drive them to death.
But he comes in great state,
And for none will he wait,
Though he sees their distress
Yet he spares them no less,
For the cold stiff limb
Is nothing to him;
And o'er countless blue noses,
His hard heart he closes.
His own children fear him
And dare not come near him;
E'en his favorite child[1]
Has been known to run wild
At his too near approach,
Her fear of him such,
And to shriek and to howl
And return scowl for scowl.
Indeed few dare him face,
And all shun his embrace;
For though pleasant his smile,
Yet one thinks all the while
Of that terrible frown,
Which the hardiest clown,
Though a stout hearted man,
Will avoid if he can.
And though many maintain
That he gives needless pain,
I confess I admire
This venerable sire.
True his language is harsh,
And his conduct oft rash,
And we know well enough,
That his manners are rough;
Yet still in the main,
We've no right to complain,
For if we prepare for him,
And show that we care for him,
We may in him find
A true friend and kind.
With us he will stay
Three months to a day,
So let us prepare
The snug elbow chair,
Which placed by the fire
For the hoary-head sire,
May comfort impart
And cheer his old heart.
Though he seems so unkind,
Yet always you'll find
That his cold heart will warm,
And he'll do you no harm
If your own can but feel
For your poor neighbor's weal;
And with pity o'erflowing,
Your free alms bestowing,
Never closing your door
On the suffering poor;
But clothe, feed, and warm them,
And see that none harm them.
E'en to others just do
As you'd wish them by you.
Let's adopt but this plan,
To do good when we can,
And the dark stormy day
Will full quick pass away,
And we never complain
Of cold weather again,
Or of tedious long hours,
That are spent within doors;
For when winter winds blow,
And we're hedged up by snow,
We shall find full employment,
And lack no enjoyment.
Thus prepared, let him come,
He will find us at home;
Bring wind, hail, or snow,
Blow high, or blow low,
We're prepared for him now.
Then come winter, come,
You'll find us at home.
Nov. 5, 1852.
[1] Spring.
[The end]
Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow's poem: Winter
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